


would you help me to carry the stone?

by silentsaebyeok



Series: Being Alive (is different than living) [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-06 01:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18840943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsaebyeok/pseuds/silentsaebyeok
Summary: He thought back to that day in the car, when he finally, tearfully, told May that he needed help. It wasn’t that long ago, only a month or so, but Peter couldn’t help but feel he was falling harder and faster than ever. That he was an atomic missile within inches of hitting its target. Ready to explode on impact. As if one little thing would cause him to explode and poison the entire city with radiation. They were the unlucky ones. The ones who survived the impact. Just like he was unlucky in so many ways.--Peter is struggling in a world post-snap. It doesn't help that Tony is struggling too.





	would you help me to carry the stone?

**Author's Note:**

> This is the 2nd part of a series. This work will make much more sense if you read the previous work first. :)  
> —  
> I want to apologize for my... *looks at calendar* 3 month absence. College was kicking me to the curb. But now I have a lot more time to write and I can promise it won't be nearly that long in between updates from here on out.  
> \--  
> I also just want to acknowledge that this series was started before any of us had seen Endgame. Needless to say, if you've read the first part, you'll know this series is now 100% AU. And it will stay that way because imo, Endgame was stupid. I guess you could say this is my version of a fix-it fic.  
> \--  
> The title of this work is taken from the lyrics of the song "Hey You" by Pink Floyd.  
> \--  
> CONTENT WARNING: this work contains graphic depictions of PTSD. Namely: depression, avoidance, panic attacks, negative self-talk, and a vague/unclear reference to suicide. If you don't feel comfortable reading that kind of thing, consider yourself warned.

_“In my head it’s getting loud,_

_Like I can’t outrun this cloud,_

_No matter where I go well there I am.”_

_\--an excerpt of lyrics from “River” by Josh Groban_

~~

Peter stared up at the frame of his bunk bed, taking in the rivets of the top mattress as it pushed against the metal bars. Nothing had ever seemed so simultaneously boring and fascinating. Peter knew he needed to get out of bed and get ready for school, but he felt as if an invisible weight was tying him down, tethering him to his mattress. As it was, he felt content to stare at that single spot for hours. If he emptied his mind of all thoughts, if he wasn’t made to think about anything, then he wouldn’t have to be the unwilling subject to things he wished to forget.

He had to maintain control somehow. And he knew he couldn’t maintain that control if he went to his first class. Not today at least. Not on a day like this. He had astronomy first period. And while it was one of his favorite classes _before_ , now he just wished he could skip school all together to avoid stepping into a room where he was forced to look at pictures and videos of space. Of planets and stars. Maybe of planets in their galaxy. Planets that were just beginning to be explored by NASA because they wanted to fully understand what happened. Why _he_ did what he did. Where _he_ came from.

 _No, no, no._ Peter thought, trying to wrangle in his spiraling thoughts. Force them under control. He was not going to go there right now. He couldn’t afford to do that. He had to maintain control. _Control. Control. Control._ That’s why he freaked out in class last week. Because he couldn’t maintain control. Because he couldn’t handle his teacher showing the class footage NASA had gathered from _that place_. Because he was weak. A big baby.

If he didn’t go to class, then he wouldn’t freak out. And if he didn’t freak out, then he couldn’t make May miss more work to come pick him up. Just because he couldn’t handle himself. Just because he was weak.

So, it was decided then. He would skip his first period and go to school after that. Staring at the underside of his top bunk’s mattress never seemed more relaxing than in that moment.

\--

“Dude!” Ned whispered loudly when Peter slid into his second period desk chair. “Why weren’t you in first period? Were you doing _you know what_?”

Peter glanced over at Ned out of the corner of his eye. He really didn’t want to have this conversation right now. And what was he supposed to say? _No, I was just freaking out about nothing like I do all the time now._ Yeah, right. If he did that, Ned would worry, and that was the last thing Peter wanted.

“No, Ned.” Peter said, slightly exasperated. In order to avoid further questions, he buried his head in his arms on the desk and Ned seemed to get the hint that he didn’t want to be bothered. At least Ned had been paying closer attention to things like that these days, Peter mused. He now knew when to back off. Maybe living to see half the universe disappear had matured him slightly. He knew Ned was worried about him. It was pretty obvious he was struggling, and he knew pretty much everyone at school had noticed it too.

Unfortunately, Peter was unable to keep his head down on the desk for long. He’d started to develop an annoying sense of hypervigilance over the past few months. It was different than his spidey-sense. While his spidey-sense was almost effortless, something that came to him when he needed it, this hypervigilance was exhausting to maintain, but wouldn’t leave him alone. And in a crowded school full of unpredictable teenagers, well, it was just agonizing.

He had to make sure everything was okay. He had to keep his surroundings in check. He had to maintain control. Because if he didn’t, who knows what could happen? It was like he didn’t have a choice in the matter, like his head was forcing him to survey every person, every situation, every place he went for any abnormalities. He vaguely wondered if that was something he should bring up with Mira, but he pushed the thought away for the moment. _Here and now, Peter. Here and now._

“’Sup, Parker.” A voice called from the classroom doorway. Whipping his head around, Peter realized the source of the voice was none other than Flash Thompson.

“Decided you would grace this hell hole with your presence?” Flash said, dropping down unceremoniously into the open seat next to Peter.

“Why do you care, Flash? Missed me so much after only one period?” Peter said slightly sullenly, but with a small smirk on his face.

Despite the mocking tone and slight show Flash continued to put on, Peter couldn’t help but be reminded of how different he’d been acting since he’d been back. He didn’t taunt Peter nearly as often as he used to, and he stopped using that ridiculous nickname entirely. But the weirdest part was that after Peter had panic attacks in class, Flash never said a single word about them. It was as if he’d disappeared every time Peter had one. And after a while, it had actually started to freak Peter out a little, so he cornered Ned about it.

_“Dude.” Peter whispered, the two of them walking slowly to their next class. “What’s up with Flash?”_

_“What do you mean?” Ned asked, a puzzled expression on his face._

_“He’s acting weird.”_

_Ned’s expression softened slightly at that, understanding filling his eyes. “Flash was dusted, Peter.”_

_“He was?” Peter felt a weird sense of pity at learning that information. As much as Flash was a thorn in his side, he wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Yeah, dying hurt like hell, but that was nothing compared to the feeling of hopelessness. The feeling that you knew you were dying and couldn’t do anything about it. The way you knew it was the end when life felt so unfulfilled, so unfinished. Not even Flash deserved to feel those things._

“Alright, class. Settle down. The bell rang five minutes ago.” Mr. Cobbwell said, bringing Peter’s focus back to the present.

\--

Luckily, the rest of the school day went without a hitch and Peter was relieved to find he forgot about his problems for a little while. Unfortunately, that all changed when he got home from academic decathlon practice to find a stern-looking May waiting for him in the living room. She still had her work clothes on, arms folded tightly around her chest, and glasses resting on the tip of her nose.

Peter gulped involuntarily. May always looked intimidating when she did that, and Peter knew full well what this was all about.  

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” May started, “care to explain to me why you skipped your first class?”  

Yup. It was about why he didn’t go to class. _Great._ “You know why.” Peter said, voice coming out a little more forceful and a little bit harder than he meant it to.

May’s expression softened slightly. Peter hated it. He hated the way she was acting around him ever since he got back. Like he was an egg about to crack, even with the smallest amount of pressure. Before, she would have yelled at him for taking that tone with her, but now… now it was just weird.

“Look, Peter.” May sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I need to know what’s going on. _All of it_. I don’t want to guess anymore. I need the details so I can help you.”

Peter sighed and slumped into a seat on the couch, fiddling with his hands while he tried to figure out how to say what was on his mind. “It’s just… it’s just astronomy class. Whenever I go, I think of space and when I think of space, I think… I think of _him_.”

“Oh, honey. I—”

“And I don’t know what to do!” Peter interrupted, incredulous and voice rising. “It’s not like I can just drop the class. And it’s not like you can just go talk to the administration.”

“Why not?”

 “What are you supposed to say?” Peter asked angrily, jumping out of his seat and beginning to pace. “Hey look, my kid died in space on a faraway planet, so he can’t take this class.”

“Peter, maybe you should talk to Mira about this.” May said.

Peter scoffed. “Yeah. Talk to Mira. Some days I think she doesn’t even know how to help me.”

“Of course she does. She’s the best out there, you know Tony only trusts the best.”

“Tony?!” Peter exclaimed, voice continuing to climb. “He’s never around! He doesn’t care if I get help or not!”

“Peter! That’s not true and you know it!” May exclaimed, jumping to her feet as well.

“It _is_ true! It’s always been true! He doesn’t give a damn about Peter Parker!”

“Peter!” May called, sounding on the verge of tears.

But Peter didn’t care if she was mad at him. He was tired of trying to care. So, he stormed to his bedroom and slammed the door, the noise reverberating through their small apartment. Shaking the walls.

\--

The next morning, much to Peter’s annoyance, May made sure he went to astronomy class. He felt bad for yelling at her the previous evening, but he didn’t have the energy to figure out a way to apologize. Luckily, his astronomy class turned out not to be such a big deal. The class was just working on star tracking equations. Math and physics. Peter could do that. But what Peter didn’t expect was his teacher, Mr. Holt, pulling him aside after class.

“Peter, I just wanted to check in with you. See how you’re doing.” His teacher said once all the students—including a slightly reluctant Ned—had cleared out.

Standing stiffly and keeping his eyes trained on the ground, Peter didn’t know what to say. After a moment of awkward silence, he gave a noncommittal shrug.

“I know the transition back to school hasn’t been easy for you,” Mr. Holt said in a placating voice.

 _You have no idea._ Peter thought.

“And I can see you are struggling. I just wanted to let you know the help is there, if you wish to seek it.”

“I’m seeing a counselor already.” Peter mumbled, unsure why he was telling Mr. Holt this in the first place and regretting it the instant it came out of his mouth.

“That’s great, Peter.” Mr. Holt said, nodding approvingly. “If you need anything else, my door is always open.”

The situation had become too awkward. He had to get out of there. “Thank you, Mr. Holt.” Peter hastily blurted out, fleeing the classroom as quickly as he could without making seem like that was what he was doing.

“What did Mr. Holt want?” Ned whispered once the two boys were settled in their second period desks.

“To give me my assignment I missed from yesterday.” Peter lied. He didn’t really like lying to Ned, but he hadn’t told his friend about seeing a therapist yet, and he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject—especially not with Flash sitting close by.

Ned didn’t look like he really believed him, but he didn’t push it. Peter was grateful for that.

\--

Today was a Loud Day, as Peter had come to call them in the months since he returned to the living world. Loud Days were days when his negative thoughts ran wild. When he couldn’t pull himself out of the mental funk that had been plaguing him since he got back. When he was locked inside his own head and couldn’t find the key no matter how desperately he searched.  

It was still hard for Peter to reconcile with the fact that there were seven months of his life he would never get back. Seven whole months. Yeah, the world was in chaos for those seven months. Everyone was trying to find their footing in a world with three-and-a-half billion less people. And in a way, Peter knew he was one of the lucky ones. Lucky he didn’t have to be like Aunt May—or the countless other people who lost their whole families. Who had to live with that.

But most days he didn’t feel lucky. He didn’t feel lucky that he felt himself come apart at the seams. From the reactions of other dusted people, they didn’t seem to feel the pain he felt when he died. They didn’t have a freaky spider-like healing factor that tried to pull them back together while the universe wanted them ripped apart. They didn’t have to succumb to death because it hurt so much, and took so much energy, to keep them together. But most of all, they didn’t _remember_ it. The terror of it. The fear of the inevitable.

The fear was what scared him most. The fear was the thing holding him back. Mira told him that calling himself crazy was of no benefit to his mental health, but it didn’t matter to Peter. Why should he lie to himself? He _was_ crazy. He had no excuse for not being able to move on and get back to life. Everyone else was.

 _No, no, no._ This needed to stop. He had to maintain control. He couldn’t go into a panic attack now. Not when he’d been managing this particular Loud Day so well. He needed a distraction. He needed to do something.

With shaking hands, Peter opened his desk drawer and stared at the set of web shooters he stashed in there. They were the extra pair from his old suit. He had given the iron spider suit back to Mr. Stark. He never wanted to look at it again. Not after _that_. But the longer he stared at the web shooters, trying to convince himself to put the suit on and stop some crime, the more anxious he became. He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

But he needed to do _something_. He couldn’t just wallow in his room, only his thoughts keeping him company. If only he could go work in the lab with Mr. Stark. But Mr. Stark didn’t want to talk to him. Didn’t want to see him. Logically, Peter knew he was just processing everything that happened in his own way, but he couldn’t help but think he had disappointed the man for some reason.

Ugh. He couldn’t afford to keep thinking in circles like this. Negative circles. So, he sent Mr. Stark a text. It might have been a little impulsive, a little desperate, but he had to do something.

_Hey Mr. Stark its Peter. Can I come work in the lab rn?_

Why did he do that? Why did he send a text? Its not like Mr. Stark was going to answer him. Just as he was about to bury his phone under a dirty pile of clothes on his floor and forget about it for the rest of the day, he heard the familiar ping of a notification.

_Sure, kid. Happy will pick you up._

Jumping out of his desk chair and scrambling to put his shoes on, Peter didn’t even realize a smile began to take up residence on his face.

\--

The smile didn’t last for long though. Once he and Happy had arrived at the compound, Mr. Stark was nowhere in sight.

“Friday, where’s Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, looking expectantly at the ceiling.

“Boss is currently doing some work in his office and has requested he not be interrupted. You are free to work at your station in his private lab.”

“Thanks, Friday.” Peter said, a little disappointed.

As he trudged into the lab and sat down at his station, pulling out the ingredients to make some more web fluid (he wasn’t even close to out, but it never hurt to make more) he tried not to think about Mr. Stark’s absence. It definitely wasn’t as much fun to work in the lab alone, and the excitement of getting to work in Mr. Stark’s private lab had worn off long ago.

Peter tried to focus on measuring and mixing ingredients without thinking of anything else, but his Loud Day just wouldn’t leave him alone. They had been happening more frequently lately. His therapist had been working with him on not dissociating, and she said it may cause them to happen more often at first. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised or annoyed, but he couldn’t help but be upset that he just couldn’t shake it. Sometimes Peter wondered if therapy was even helping him. He tried not to be cynical about it, and he kept going to his appointments, but when days like this resulted, he couldn’t help but be pessimistic.

Ugh. He was spiraling again. He thought coming to the lab—having a distraction—would help. But so far it just seemed to be making things worse.

Despite feeling like a fish out of water, Peter turned his attention back to the beaker in his left hand. That was when he noticed the trembling. That was when he felt the familiar constriction of his chest. That was when he acknowledged the inevitable. The inevitable that he had been trying to push back, to ignore all day.

 _No, no, no. Not here. Not now._ Setting the beaker on the table a little too forcefully, Peter entwined his shaking hands and fingers into the curls on his head. It was bad enough that May had to see him go through panic attacks, but having one here? At the compound? No. He would not allow it to happen.

He tried to focus on the feeling of his scalp, of his hair between his fingers. He tried to breathe in and breathe out. In and out. In and out. _It’s not working. It’s not working. It’s not working._ In and out. Out. Out. Out. In. Out. Out.

Suddenly and without warning, a hand was on his shoulder and he jerked back violently, toppling from his stool. He was vaguely aware of someone calling his name, but the only coherent thing his brain was willing to supply him with was danger. Danger. Danger. Danger. He had to get out of here—wherever here was. He was in danger!

From his new position sprawled on the floor, Peter began to frantically scoot away from the voice calling his name. Eventually, his back hit something hard and unforgiving and he curled into a tight ball. He was vaguely aware he was sobbing. Vaguely aware he was trembling. Vaguely aware that he was safe and didn’t need to be acting like this. But he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop hyperventilating. He couldn’t stop his brain from telling him he was in danger.

After what felt like hours, Peter seemed to slowly come back to himself. His violent shaking reduced to minute trembling and his loud sobs turned to quiet tears. Relaxing his muscles for the first time since the panic attack started, he ventured a look around the lab and found Ms. Potts staring at him in concern.

“Are you okay, Peter?” She asked, crouching down to meet his eyes.

Peter thought the question was ridiculous. Of course he wasn’t okay! What was Ms. Potts thinking? He just had a panic attack in Mr. Stark’s lab!

“I just wanna go home.” Peter croaked out, moving his eyes to the floor and ignoring the question.

Ms. Potts looked at him with kind, but pitying eyes. She seemed to be holding back a barrage of questions. “Of course, Peter. I’ll go get Happy and you can clean up your stuff, okay?”

Peter nodded in return as she stood to go alert Happy.

Some day this was turning out to be.

\--

Peter fell asleep on the ride back to Queens, his mind and body exhausted from both the panic attack itself and trying to keep it at bay for most of the day. It was probably for the best. He felt mortified that Pepper had seen him like that, but strangely, he felt even more mortified that he had to sit in a car with Happy for two hours after the fact.

Happy must have called May and explained what happened while Peter was asleep because when he entered the living room of his apartment, he found May waiting expectantly on the couch; a book in her hands and a sad expression on her face he knew wasn’t related to what she was reading. He hated her pity. He hated how often it seemed to make itself known as of late. He wished—not for the first time—that just one person in his life would treat him normally in the wake of all this.

“Oh, baby.” May said, rising from her seat and putting her hands on Peter’s cheeks.

Peter pulled away so quickly it was as if her hands were scalding hot knives. “I’m sick of your pity.” He said, voice hard and unforgiving. “Just treat me normally for once!”

May had the sense to look abashed, but she wasn’t fazed. Not really. “But this isn’t normal, Peter! How can I go on pretending everything’s okay when it’s not?”

A pause seemed to hang in the air for a moment after that.

Peter let out a long sigh. “You’re right, May. I’m sorry. I’m just so stressed and mad at myself and I can’t sleep and… and….”

“You need to take a breath, honey.”

“I can’t. I can’t. I—I….” Giving up on trying to form a coherent sentence, Peter collapsed to the floor, his face in his hands and chest constricting painfully. He felt the tears on his cheeks wet his palms, wondering—not for the first time why he couldn’t just get over this, why he couldn’t stop crying _every damn day_ , why he couldn’t just be a normal kid with normal problems.

Of course, normality for Peter Parker died that fateful night on the pavement of a Queens alley. Normality died the moment he clutched his uncle’s chest and felt his hand come away wet with blood. Normality died the moment he met Mr. Stark, went to Germany, knocked on Liz’s door to pick her up for the dance.

None of those moments ever stopped him from wishing—wishing in his worst moments that he could take it all back. Be free.

Some superhero he was….

\--

Peter opened his eyes and stared blankly at his ceiling. He had been sleeping in the top bunk for the past few nights. It made him feel safer. More secure. But at the same time, he didn’t know why he did it. There was no sense of safety when your own mind was the problem. No escape.

Peter felt as if something dark had been hanging over him the past few days. As if his ability to do anything but lay in bed—a victim to his own mind—was impossible. He knew May had been worried, and she must have called Mr. Stark or Happy at some point, because he heard her yelling from the other room. He had tuned her out though, not caring what she said. Not caring about much of anything.

May was upset that Tony was still ignoring him. But he didn’t feel that bad about it, at least he tried not to. In some ways, Peter felt like he was ignoring Tony too. He hadn’t made much of an effort to reach out to him once the dust had settled. Once they got back to normal life. Or as normal as their lives could be.

He supposed Mr. Stark was disappointed in him—upset with him. He died. And now Tony had to feel that was on him. Like he voiced so long ago during the incident with the Staten Island Ferry. They didn’t even really know each other then, Peter mused. They were still trying to figure out what their boundaries were. Mentor and mentee? Or father and son?

Okay, so maybe Peter _did_ feel upset that Tony was ignoring him. As they began to get to know each other better, Tony had begun to fill a hole in his life that had existed since Uncle Ben. And for the first time, Ben’s death didn’t hurt the way it had been hurting.

But now… now that Tony had all but disappeared from his life, missing Ben came back full force. It hurt like hell every day. Peter just wanted to talk to him, to tell him all that had happened. How crazy his life had become. How he didn’t feel like he had control over it anymore.

Sighing, Peter pushed back his covers and went to get dressed. He didn’t particularly care that he hadn’t showered in three days. He didn’t really care that his hair was a greasy mop. Where he was going, no one would be around to care anyway.

“Peter?” May questioned when he stepped into the living room. “Oh, baby. Look at you! You got dressed, you changed your clothes!”

May pulled him in for a hug and Peter hated it. He hated everything about this situation, but when May felt proud of him for doing normal every-day things, he felt smothered and sick to his stomach. He should be doing better; he shouldn’t be acting _weird_ like this anymore. He shouldn’t have days where he just laid in bed because he felt too depressed to do anything else. He should be over whatever happened on Titan. But he wasn’t, and he somehow had to deal with that.  

“I’m gonna go visit Ben.” Peter mumbled, not quite looking in May’s eyes.

There was a pause hanging in the musty air of their apartment. He hadn’t mentioned Ben once since he came back. Willing himself to look May in the eyes, Peter noticed her stricken expression, the one she reserved for times her late husband was discussed. Peter hated it since day one.

“Okay, Peter. Be safe.”

And with the confirmation from May, Peter was out the door in a flash.

The walk to the cemetery was uneventful. Peter didn’t think he could handle the subway on a day like today. A day when his thoughts were running wild, when he hadn’t ventured out of his apartment in three whole days because of his stupid PTSD. It was nice actually, to get some fresh air and hear the sounds of the city in full.

As he rounded the corner to the entryway of the cemetery, he felt the familiar tightening of his chest that he felt whenever he let thoughts of his uncle overtake him. He didn’t try to stop it though. Not while he was here, walking through the maze of stone and vegetation.

“Hi, Ben.” Peter said, folding his legs underneath him once he had located his uncle’s headstone. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Tugging at the grass surrounding him, Peter let out a long sigh he hadn’t realized he was holding in.

It was a long time before he spoke again. “Some days I think it would be easier to be really dead, you know? That way it wouldn’t have to be so _hard_.” Peter felt a lump form in his throat at that last word, his chest constricting in that all too familiar way. “Sometimes I’m jealous of you, Ben. And I know that’s wrong, but I can’t stop thinking about how great it must be to rest peacefully.”

He didn’t know when the tears started running down his cheeks, but now they were great fountains. Now he knew there was no point trying to stop them. “My head is so _loud_. I just want it to be quiet.”

Foregoing the grass, Peter began to trace his index finger over the embellished patterns carved on Ben’s headstone. “May is worried about me. Really worried. But it’s hard for me to be worried about myself.” Another sigh. “I know I should be, but I don’t know how.”

Burying his face in his hands, Peter mumbled, “She was so proud of me today, just because I got out of bed. Ugh, it’s so stupid!”

Peter felt himself being swept up in his emotions. Emotions that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to feel for the past few days. He didn’t know why they decided to out themselves here, of all places, but it was understandable. Ben had always been the person he went to when he was having a hard time, and for a while after his passing, it was difficult to open himself up to May. Sometimes, no—oftentimes, it was still difficult to tell May how he was really feeling.

He thought back to that day in the car, when he finally, tearfully, told May that he needed help. It wasn’t that long ago, only a month or so, but Peter couldn’t help but feel he was falling harder and faster than ever. That he was an atomic missile within inches of hitting its target. Ready to explode on impact. As if one little thing would cause him to explode and poison the entire city with radiation. They were the unlucky ones. The ones who survived the impact. Just like he was unlucky in so many ways.  

“I don’t think anyone else felt themselves die. At least, not like I did.” Peter said, turning his attention back to Ben’s headstone. “Damn Parker Luck.”

Peter sighed. He couldn’t put anymore of his scattered thoughts into words. He was all out. Amicable silence fell over the two of them, the boy and his uncle—buried six feet under. It would be hard to describe to someone who hadn’t lost the most important person in their life, but Peter felt at peace, for the first time in months, sitting in the cemetery with his late uncle.

Laying back in the grass, feeling its cool temperature seep under his shirt, feeling its texture, Peter stared up at the clear blue sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. The noise of the city seemed oddly distant, and Peter felt truly relaxed for the first time in so long. A V formation of sparrows flew into his field of vison, sailing across the sky.

Maybe he could do it. Maybe he could put on the suit again. It was what Ben would’ve wanted. Power and responsibility and all that. In hindsight, Peter supposed he knew about it all from the beginning. And that made him all the more proud to be his uncle’s son. A son in all the most important ways.

Gathering both his thoughts and his body, Peter stood. “Bye, Uncle Ben. I’ll be back sooner next time, okay? At least once a month. I promise.”

And with that, he left his uncle’s final resting place. Feeling lighter than he had in months.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned for pt. 3 from Tony's point of view! All will hit the fan in the next installment, so for those of you who hunger for irondad, I think you will be very happy about pt. 3!  
> \--  
> I also want to acknowledge that everyone's experiences with mental illness are different. This work is solely based off my own.  
> \--  
> Finally, if you liked this fic, please leave a comment and tell me what you thought! You can also find me on Tumblr @silentsaebyeok if you want to talk with me, listen to me talk about my writing and fill your feed with Marvel and Star Wars content. Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
